Where Are We?
by diablobruh587
Summary: After chasing a murderer into the woods, the group gets lost. Night is coming fast and the mountains are much colder than anyone thought they would be. Lots of drama, friendship, and hopefully some secrets revealed (OOOOOHHHHHHH). Will be focusing mainly on Carlton (cuz he my bae) but there will also be some comedic relief from Shawn and Gus and a look into Juliet's mind.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: First of all, let me apologize. I deleted my last story because I just didn't like where it was going and I went kind of crazy and deleted all traces of it on my computer. Yeah. It's been that kind of week. I'm so sorry for all those who this disappoints. I'm definitely gonna be more careful in the future, because that's totally unacceptable.**_

 _ **Second of all, I have been a depressed egg all week and I figure writing could help me cheer up. So, I watched a few episodes of**_ **Psych** _ **to give me so inspiration and I think I'm ready to once again tell the tale of Carlton, because he is my favorite.**_

 _ **P.S. This takes a bit of inspiration from "And Other Wilderness Pursuits," a fantastic fic by one of my favorite writers: silverluna.**_

"Carlton, slow down!"

"He's just ahead of me!"

"Hurry up, Gus! Don't be Gordon Hayward's ankle!"

"Shawn!"

"Carlton!"

"O'Hara!"

"Marco!"

"Polo!"

Carlton nearly tripped as he vaulted over a protruding boulder. The trail had ebbed away over five hundred yards back, but its absence did not bother him. He'd find his way back. The burnt reds and oranges blurred around him in a sort of psychedelic montage. On any other day, it'd be a sight to stop and admire for a few hours, but that wasn't important right now. What mattered now was catching up to Avery Goodwin. Through some scattered "divining" from Spencer and some long hours browsing through old phone records by Carlton and O'Hara, they had caught the man red-handed. A few pointed questions and he broke like a glowstick.

Unfortunately, the murderer also turned out to be a runner. Carlton didn't really mind _running_ —he ran at least five miles every morning just trying to clear his head—but _chasing_ was a different story. _Chasing_ involved zigzagging through less-than-ideal areas, changing direction every few moments and easily losing sight of your target. Plus, he had to keep track of the three people trailing him, only one of which he cared about. But he knew he'd never hear the end of it from O'Hara if he somehow "misplaced" the psychic or Guster, so he made sure to do a quick head count every hundred or so feet to make sure he hadn't lost one.

"Carlton!" O'Hara's breathless voice struck his ear forcefully, but he pretended to ignore it. He had a murderer to catch. Though he couldn't see Avery anymore, he was sure he was up there in the foliage somewhere, lurking in the bushes and ready to spring on another unsuspecting victim.

Suddenly, a hand slapped down on his shoulder, startling him so badly that he stumbled, his knees slamming painfully into the reddish-brown soil below him. His momentum caused him to slide another ten or so feet before tipping laboriously over onto his side. O'Hara came to a skidding halt and knelt down beside him.

"Oh my God, are you alright?" The concern painting her voice almost made Carlton's anger dissipate.

 _Almost._

"What the hell, O'Hara?" He pushed her hand off his arm and scrambled to his feet, brushing dirt and leaves off of his favorite suit. She'd definitely owe him dry cleaning money for this.

"Sorry!" She fussed with his suit apologetically. "I think we need to stop and regroup. I'm not even sure we're going the right way anymore."

"I highly doubt that—"

"Lassie!" The unpleasant voice rang through the crisp forest air, involuntarily causing Carlton to flinch. Spencer and Guster emerged from the trees like two lumbering bears fresh out of hibernation and hunting for food. Which, in all reality, was probably exactly what they were doing.

"My psychic senses tell me that Avery outsmarted us and doubled back on his trail," Spencer commented with a condescending air, putting his finger to his temple to ensure that all theatrics were employed in his demonstrations.

Carlton glared. "Are you on drugs, Spencer? We saw him run this way. He wouldn't dare try to cross us again just to double back on his trail." But, as he said it, he knew Spencer was right. Avery wasn't stupid. Doubling back on his trail was exactly the kind of crap he'd pull.

O'Hara seemed to sense his internal chagrin and quickly took charge. "Well, we can't catch him standing here all day. Shawn, Gus—why don't you two head that way?" She pointed to the trees Shawn and Gus had just come from. "Carlton and I will take that direction." She motioned just to the right of Shawn and Gus's designated path where some thick bushes had taken hold in the nearly black dirt. She suppressed a grimace thinking about all the thorns and brambles that would scratch her arms and legs when she fought through them. "I'm pretty sure we should end up coming out of the forest in about the same area near the same time. I used to hike around this area with my boyfriend." Spencer visibly stiffened at the word "boyfriend," but he (miraculously) held his composure, probably due to his visible panting at the nearly three-mile run he'd just completed.

Spencer looked uncomfortable at having to split up. Carlton mused on what part of the situation made him most uneasy: the fact that he'd be wandering through the woods, unarmed, with a murderer on the loose, the fact that he'd probably get lost and need to call for backup, or the fact that he'd be apart from O'Hara for more than ten minutes. He smirked slightly—anything that would bring any sort of discomfort or pain to Spencer would most definitely bring a smile to his own face.

"Are you sure, Jules? It's getting darker and darker by the minute and they say even the most experienced hikers can get turned around in these woods at night." He gazed uncertainly up at the late afternoon sky, shielding his eyes with his hand.

Juliet smiled confidently. "It'll be fine, Shawn. We're only a few hundred yards from the nearest trail and a few miles from the parking lot. We still have cell coverage in this area, so you can still call if you find him or get lost. We'll all make it back with plenty of daylight to spare." She got a devilish gleam in her eye. "That is, unless you're scared of the monsters in the dark?"

Carlton grinned, but shook it off quickly. He didn't have time for jokes, he needed to catch Avery. He hated when the bad guy got away with it. "Look, I don't care what we do, but we need to get moving. Avery could be clear to Nevada by now." He folded his arms defensively, daring one of those bumbling "detectives" to challenge him.

"Okay, okay, Lassie," Spencer teased, "We'll go this way, you guys go that way. But don't get too afraid now. I hear that the Loch Ness Monster roams these hills, and he's always looking for grumpy detectives to eat."

"The Loch Ness Monster lives in Scotland, Shawn," Guster corrected exhaustedly. "And he doesn't eat people. He just kills them and builds an underwater castle with their bodies." He rolled his eyes as if that information should be obvious.

"I thought that was the chinchilla?"

" _Chupacabra._ And that's a vampire-like creature that lives in Puerto Rico and eats goats."

"Why would someone eat goats?"

"Because—"

O'Hara held up her hands. "Guys! Murderer? Case? Ring any bells?"

Spencer grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, Jules. We'll meet you somewhere over the rainbow!" He turned and skipped back through the trees, linking arms with a very reluctant Guster and bellowing "The Yellow Brick Road" at the top of his lungs.

O'Hara shared a look with Carlton, who was still scowling at Spencer's and Guster's backs. She gently cleared her throat to regain his attention. "You ready, partner?"


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: This story seems promising. What do you guys think? Excited for more or nah? Anything specifically you want me to include? I'm up for basically anything! Thanks for the reads, reviews, follows, and favorites!**_

 _ **Edit: I forgot to fix a minor plot hole so that's why this chapter was deleted and then resubmitted.**_

Carlton angrily swatted another branch out of his face. It flipped back and viciously ripped a bright red gash on his cheek. He cursed it out sufficiently and plunged further into the thick undergrowth. Up above, the evening sun was quickly dipping below the canopy of leaves high above their heads. Carlton checked his watch. Seven o'clock. They'd need to get out of here quick, or they'd be stuck in the forest overnight. Not an altogether terrible proposition if one was prepared, but he was not prepared—no food, no water, and no warm clothing.

They still hadn't caught up with Avery. They hadn't even seen any sign of him. He didn't want to admit it—either to himself or to O'Hara—but they had lost his trail. They'd have to pick up the search in the morning and possibly bring reinforcements, an idea he didn't relish.

He heard O'Hara lightly panting behind him. Though she seemed confident ordering them around earlier, she seemed to be losing that confidence with every step. Every few minutes, Carlton would confirm that he was going the right way and each time Juliet's answer became quieter and quieter to the point where he had to ask her to repeat herself numerous times, wearing on his patience and O'Hara's nerves. The nagging thought that they were utterly and hopelessly lost gnawed at the back of his mind.

He turned back to ask again but a gnarled root caught his foot. His lanky 6'1" frame went head over heels down a steep incline.

"Carlton!" he heard O'Hara call, but she wasn't quick enough to stop him from somersaulting down the hill.

He spun like a car tire, scraping his back on sharp stones and fallen branches. With each roll, his pain increased tenfold. O'Hara was still calling after him. The world was spinning faster and faster. Dizziness overtook him and he shut his eyes tightly to try and ignore it. A jagged rock jabbed into the small of his back and he cried out. Juliet called his name again.

He felt himself slowing down as the incline smoothed into a flat meadow. The jagged rocks and twigs were replaced by soft weeds and grass. He rolled five or six times before hitting a tree stump and flopping onto his back. He lay with his eyes closed, panting heavily and groaning in between breaths. He was almost certain he'd broken something and was most likely bleeding in multiple places.

"Carlton! Carlton, are you okay?" O'Hara's voice was getting louder and louder with each syllable. Carlton couldn't tell if it was because she was getting closer or because she was panicking more and more as she realized the extent of his injuries. He blissfully chose to believe the former.

Suddenly, a hand forcefully slapped his cheek. His own shot out and grasped it as his eyes flew open. O'Hara kneeled next to him with concern burning in her facial features. She breathed an audible sigh of relief when she saw him moving and awake.

"I'm fine, O'Hara," he snapped. He released her hand and propped himself up on his elbows (not without a concentrated effort). Suppressing a grimace, he surveyed his wounds.

As he sat up, he felt a distinct stabbing pain in his chest—broken ribs. His back ached and, though he couldn't see, he guessed that it was bruised and bloodied from the blows of a thousand tiny rocks. Glancing over his arms and legs, he nearly cried—his good suit was torn and bloodied beyond recognition (O'Hara definitely owed him dry cleaning money now).

He was about to declare himself fit to stand up again, when he saw his foot. Bile immediately rose in his throat. He thought he was facing straight ahead, but something wasn't right with his left leg; it wasn't facing straight at all. The knee and foot were both angled inward, toward his other leg. It didn't hurt—not yet—but the sight enough was enough to make Carlton scream. He lifted his arm to his face and fiercely bit down on the cuff of his sleeve. O'Hara noticed it at the same time he did and clapped a hand over her mouth, obviously trying to quell the nausea that had previously afflicted Carlton.

She straightened and, pointedly avoiding looking at the leg, softly said, "I think we're going to need to call for help."

Carlton pulled out his phone and cursed. In his fall, it had shattered in his pocket. He stared at the broken shards in his hand. "Useless iPhones," he mumbled.

"That's okay, we'll use mine." O'Hara patted him gently on the shoulder, careful to avoid the scratches, and pulled out her phone.

Carlton lay back again and closed his eyes, still trying to still his queasy stomach. His uneasy calm was punctuated by O'Hara cursing.

He opened one eye. "What's wrong?" His voice was higher than he intended, but he chalked it up to the involuntary shock of the situation.

"I forgot to charge my phone. It's dead." He watched her smack it a few times, uselessly trying to regain some battery power.

"Oh, c'mon, O'Hara," Carlton complained. "I _told_ you to charge your phone before we left. But _no,_ you just had to make that phone call to your girlfriend to help her figure out what Chad meant when he said he needed space." Sarcasm oozed into his voice. He knew he was being harsh, but he felt like crap and they couldn't even call for help. "I mean, c'mon, Detective, there's a level of professionalism you should be upholding and this definitely isn't it. This is absolutely ridiculous. We lost our suspect, we lost the trail, and now we've lost all contact with the outside world. What else can go wrong, O'Hara? Now, if I'd had my way—"

He stopped short when O'Hara began sobbing. Her back was to him in an effort to hide it, but her shoulders were shaking. She tried to stifle the noise, but it wasn't quiet enough.

"What?" he demanded. After all, if anyone should be crying, it should be _him_ (not that he ever would) _._ Still, a small part of him wanted to comfort her. To reach out and stroke her hair and let her know that it was okay. That he didn't mean what he said and would she please tell him what's wrong? But that was a very _small_ part of him—a part he didn't often like to acknowledge. Mentally shaking himself from his thoughts, he repeated his question, a little less gruff this time. "What?"

She didn't answer for a moment, but her crying lessened. She used her sleeve to furiously wipe the tears off her face. She took a few steady breaths and then turned to face him again. "Sorry, Carlton. It's nothing." She didn't look at him. Her words were addressed to the ground instead. She fiddled with a blade of grass. "And I'm sorry. You're right. I should have charged my phone before I left. But there's not a lot we can do about that right now. Right now, we need to make a plan on how we're going to get home."

He furrowed his brow. O'Hara usually didn't break when he yelled at her, so he was naturally curious as to what had set her off. He opened his mouth to say something about how he didn't blame her and that he was sorry, but his pride got the better of him and he remained silent on the matter. Instead, he chose to focus on the problem at hand. "Well, I certainly can't walk with this leg." He caught another glimpse of his twisted leg and had to close his eyes to prevent himself from throwing up.

O'Hara took advantage of his nausea-induced silence to reassert her authority. "We need to make camp here for the night. Then, tomorrow morning, I'll go scout out the area and see if I can find any hikers or a cabin or anything like that. I mean, we're in California for heaven's sake. With as many people that live here, there's got to be _someone_ to help us nearby."

"But you know where we are, right?"

Carlton stared at her with wide eyes. He was pretty sure he knew the answer, but his hope wouldn't be extinguished until she confirmed his fears. He hoped to God that he was wrong. That O'Hara would help him out and this whole ordeal could be over. His anxieties became realities when O'Hara's eyes once again welled with tears and she returned her attention to the ground. "I thought I did."

Carlton nodded slightly. He was afraid of that.

He let out a labored breath through his teeth. He wasn't letting on, but the shock was wearing off and he could definitely feel his leg now. The pain burned through his leg all the way up to his torso and head. It felt like a furnace was burning in his body. He distracted himself by fantasizing about diving into a pool of ice and biting down on his lower lip covertly, hoping O'Hara wouldn't notice.

But she did.

"Oh God, Carlton, I am so sorry." She brushed his hair back. "I'm going to get us home. You'll be okay." She leaned down and kissed his forehead.

Carlton felt a rush of warmth surge through his body, originating from the spot on his forehead that her lips touched. He half-smiled up at her.

A gunshot broke the stillness of the moment.

 _ **Oh snap. What am I gonna do? Am I gonna kill one of them off? Am I gonna have them have to escape? Did I just randomly decide to put a gunshot in there to torture you? GUESS YOU'LL HAVE TO KEEP READING TO FIND OUT. Read and review, friends!**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: I am the worst at planning out stories. Mostly because I don't actually do it. Are y'all just so proud of me? This chapter focuses on Shawn and Gus, just for those of you who wanted some comedic relief and also cuz I wanted to torture those of you waiting to know what happens to Carlton and Juliet. Without further preamble, I give you CHAPTER 3!**_

"Do you even know where we're going, Shawn?"

"Of course I do! I'm psychic, remember?"

Gus violently slapped a low-hanging branch out of his face. "No, you're not! You are a highly observant man-child who likes to call himself a psychic so that he doesn't get arrested."

Shawn spun around and began walking backwards. "Gus, don't be a teddy bear with creepy button eyes. I call myself a psychic because I can predict the future. In fact, I can tell you that in the next five minutes, you will sneeze at least once."

Gus snorted and shook his head. Suddenly, he sneezed—once, twice, three times. "What the-? How did you know that Shawn?"

Shawn put his hands to his temples and grinned.

"C'mon, Shawn. Seriously."

Shawn pointed to a patch of wildflowers. "You're allergic to these lovely little starbursts of color. Speaking of Starbursts, I want some. You think there's a Starburst tree somewhere around here?"

"You know, Shawn, I'm getting real tired—" He trailed off when he realized Shawn had stopped on the trail ahead of him. "What—"

Shawn silenced Gus by raising his hand. He knelt in the slightly damp earth beneath them and scooped up a handful of it. Holding it to his face, he studied it intensely, sifting it through his fingers repeatedly. He sniffed the clod once, then licked it.

Gus rolled his eyes. "Shawn, c'mon. We're completely lost in the middle of the woods and night is only about an hour away. We don't have time to play games."

Shawn held up his hand again. "Silence!"

Gus shut his mouth but continued to scowl at Shawn irritatedly.

After staring at the lump of dirt in his hand for a concerning amount of time, Shawn tilted his head to the right. Gus looked where Shawn indicated, but all he could see was more hemlock trees and honeysuckle.

"What makes that direction more special than all the others, Shawn?"

"Well, for one thing, it looks like the set of _Forest Warrior_ and I'm hoping that we'll meet Chuck Norris."

"Shawn!"

"That, and there's a lot of broken branches at about the same height as Avery, so obviously he ran through here."

Gus wasn't convinced. "How do you know it's not a bear that broke all those branches? You know my feelings about bears, Shawn."

"Yes, I know your strange attraction to bears. You really should talk to someone about that." Before Gus could protest, Shawn continued. "How many bears do you know wear size ten hiking boots?" He pointed to a faint track about five feet away. Gus stepped closer for a better look. It was so faint that he wasn't sure if it was a footprint or just a random mark in the dirt.

"Are you sure? I mean, that looks just like an anomaly in the soil. How do you know it's really a boot?"

Shawn put a hand to his temple and cocked an eyebrow. Gus let out an exasperated sigh but nodded. They were already lost, might as well go with whatever lead they could find. Besides, Shawn's instincts were usually pretty trustworthy. _Usually._

Gus waited for Shawn to lead the way. After all, if it _was_ a bear and not a human they were chasing, he definitely was _not_ going to be the first one to face it. He would have felt more comfortable with Juliet or Lassie bringing up the rear—to prevent a bear ambush from behind—but this would have to do for now.

"I'm starving," Shawn complained. "Do you have any snacks?"

"I _had_ a Clif Bar, remember? You ate it about a mile back."

"That was all you had? What kind of hiker are you?"

"I didn't know we'd be hiking today! You're the one who decided to waste it on your boredom munchies!"

"I can't work with boredom munchies, Gus. You know that."

Gus picked up a quarter-sized pebble and threw it at the back of Shawn's head.

"Ow!" Shawn rubbed the back of his head and spun around. "What was that for?"

"Getting me into this situation! I had a date tonight, remember? I was going to take my woman to the planetarium and dazzle her with my knowledge of all things Pluto. Now I'm stuck in the middle of the woods with you!" Shawn looked unaffected by his outburst, though his mouth twitched when he mentioned Pluto. Choosing to ignore the slight reaction, Gus angrily held out his hand. "Give me your phone. I'm going to call Lassiter."

"I thought _you_ had my phone."

"Why would I have your phone?"

"Well, it wasn't in my pocket so I assumed either you or an adorably prickly porcupine had taken it." Shawn put a finger to his chin and thoughtfully stared off into space.

Gus stood with mouth agape. "What the hell, Shawn? You mean, you don't actually have your phone with you?"

Shawn grinned and shrugged. "Guess not. But hey, you've got yours, right?"

"No, I don't! Mine's being fixed right now because _someone_ thought it would be funny to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with it. Remember? You came with me to the store!"

Shawn adopted his thoughtful gaze again. His eyes lit up as he remembered. "That's right! They kicked me out for changing all the lock screens to random Spongebob screenshots!"

Gus was no longer listening, though. His hands were laced over his head and he walked in circles mumbling to himself about incompetent friends and how easy it would be to commit a murder right now. He stopped and took a deep breath to steady himself.

"C'mon, buddy," Shawn assured. "It's gonna be okay. Look! There's even a friendly squirrel to lead us home!" Shawn pointed to a fat squirrel cowering under a bush while trying to shove a pinecone twice the size of its body into its cheek. Gus glared at Shawn and returned to his mumbling. He took a deep breath to steady himself.

"Okay. We don't have a phone, we don't know where we are, and we don't have any food. But that's okay. We've gotten out of sticky situations before. We can get out of this."

Just then, a gunshot cracked through the still forest air.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Sorry for the late update but better late than never. This is your Christmas present. Merry Christmas (or whatever holiday you celebrate).**_

The heat of the bullet singed her earlobe as it zinged past. Though she had not been hit, she instinctively cupped a hand on her ear and dropped to the dirt next to Carlton. She thanked whatever God there might be that the soil here was fertile and soft, and nothing like the sandy, hard-packed dust that plagued the rest of California.

The shock of the bullet dulled her senses. Everything just seemed…blank. The air was blank. Noise was blank. The dirt was blank. She was floating on a fluffy, weightless cloud in the sky. Gently drifting, floating away into that vast expanse of blue. Slowly getting farther and farther away from her problems…

"O'Hara! O'Hara!"

Carlton's hand roughly shook her shoulder but his voice sounded like it was coming through a paper towel tube, echoing from a distance. His outline was blurry. And where was that god-awful ringing coming from? Was he making that noise? His facial features were tensing more and more with each yell, twisting themselves into a tight, concerned portrait.

"O'Hara? God, O'Hara are you okay?"

His frightened tenor—almost soprano now—repeated the question over and over. With each repetition, the paper towel tube was shortened more and more. Finally, his cries began coming in loud and clear.

 _"O'Hara! Dammit, answer me!"_

The ringing in her ears was soon drowned out by her partner's voice. He shook her roughly, grimacing as he did so. The situation slowly came into focus again and before her partner could jostle her again she took his hands.

"Yeah," she breathed. "Yeah, I'm okay."

In the dim twilight, she watched as the tension melted from his features, but it returned quickly after another bullet whistled over their heads. They both flinched and pressed themselves into the dirt as far as they could. She painstakingly turned her head to look at him. His lips were pursed into a thin white line and his eyebrows were nearly touching his hairline. She'd never seen him so scared—not even when he'd had a gun pressed to his temple. She fumbled in the dirt for a minute before locating and gripping his hand.

Carlton angled his head to try and see behind him, suppressing a grimace. "Where did that come from?" he whispered through clenched teeth.

Juliet lifted her head as far as she dared and scanned the surrounding forest. It was too dark now to make out anything but shadows and darker shadows. The pine trees stood like ominous guardsmen against the deep purple of the evening sky. They, too, held their breath like the vulnerable detectives, waiting for the crack of another gunshot and the dying scream of a wounded animal.

"God, it's like _The Village_ out here." She rolled her eyes at her own Shawn-like movie reference. Carlton gasped in pain. Juliet leaned over him, thinking that he'd been shot somehow without her seeing or hearing. "What? What's wrong?"

Carlton laughed in a low tone. "Relax, O'Hara. Just readjusting my leg." Though he was trying to hide it, Juliet could only guess the amount of pain he was enduring right now. She wanted to smack him. Why did he have to be such a tough guy? If he'd only let his guard down long enough for her to enter that complicated psyche of his, maybe he wouldn't be so grumpy, so unapproachable. But that wall had been built almost since the day he was born, a leftover from having to be the man of the house. She still wanted to smack him, though. She settled for squeezing his hand again. He squeezed back, much harder.

She dragged her thoughts back to their situation. With a gunman (or _gunmen_ ) somewhere in those forbidding trees, crouching in the dark with their rifle trained just above the two cops, waiting once again to squeeze off a round into their defenseless bodies, they were sitting ducks. They needed to escape the meadow, and quickly.

"Should've listened to Bambi's mom," Carlton murmured, obviously regretting stumbling into the meadow as well. Juliet patted his cheek gently, not sure if the random thought was serious or if her no-nonsense partner was slowly slipping into shock. She silently prayed for the former.

Squinting her eyes through the darkness (and wondering how the sniper could be so accurate in the nearly pitch black), she spotted a clearing in the trees about one thousand yards to their rear. If she could drag Carlton there, they would be out of the line of fire of the gunman.

She judged him to be about fifty pounds heavier than her, due to height alone. It wouldn't be easy dragging him, especially since he was practically dead weight. As she mentally ran through the best ways to move Carlton, he broke into her thoughts with a dry, cracking voice.

"Juliet," Carlton quietly implored. His eyes harbored a look of determination mixed with grave acceptance. "You need to find cover. Leave me here and get to the trees." Juliet began to protest but Carlton overlapped her. "I have my gun, I'll be fine. I'll only weigh you down if you try and drag me. Just go and come back for me later."

Juliet stared at the older man as if she thought him insane. After all they'd been through together? After all the times they'd nearly died? After all the cases they'd solved together? After all the times they'd saved each other's sorry butts? And he thought that she would just leave him there alone with nothing but his pitiful Glock to protect him? No. She wasn't about to leave her partner behind.

With a renewed determination, she looped her hands under his armpits and began dragging him toward the clearing.

Carlton moaned in pain and latched onto her arms to make her stop.

"Leave me, O'Hara. Get out of here."

She ignored his weak protests and kept laboriously dragging him.

Five hundred yards. Four hundred yards. His feeble attempts to stop her wrenched her heart and she bit back tears as he continued to pull back on her arms.

Three hundred yards. Two hundred yards. Almost there.

One hundred yards.

Fifty.

Twenty…

 _CRACK._

Another bullet flew by her, just grazing the top of her right shoulder. She doubled over and dropped Carlton's left arm to clap her hand over the burning wound. The pain shot through her arm like boiling water rushing through her veins.

"O'Hara!"

She lifted her fingers to see blood—red, thick, and with the viscosity of warm maple syrup. She was near vomiting as she used her left sleeve to wipe away the blood. An audible sigh of relief escaped her lips when she found that it was only a small scratch.

By this point, Carlton was squeezing her arms so hard that they left fingernail marks. She smiled and hooked an arm under his left armpit again. "It's okay, Carlton. I'm fine." With an extraordinary burst of strength, she yanked him the last few yards into a clump of bushes with her. A few more bullets peppered the ground around them, but none came any closer.

She lowered him to the ground and put a finger to her lips. Carlton nodded and bit down on his lower lip to keep from crying out. His face was the color of a sheet of paper and his whole body shook with exhaustion. Juliet pushed aside her pity for the time being to focus on the meadow—there would be time for bandaging wounds later when they weren't being shot at.

The meadow was silent. No birds chirping, no insects buzzing—completely still. The tension in the air nearly choked Juliet and Carlton as they waited for their sniper to make the first move.

Juliet waited with bated breath for what seemed an hour but couldn't have been more than ten minutes. The sniper still hadn't shot off another round. In fact, she wasn't even sure if he had moved. If he had, she was sure she would've heard in the dead stillness that surrounded them.

They waited another ten minutes, their breath coming out in ragged exhales. The temperature had dropped nearly twenty degrees and Juliet swore she could see her breath coming out in puffs of white mist. However, she was also grateful for the freezing temperatures, as they slowed her bleeding shoulder for the time being. The trees towered above and leaned over them as if to say, _We can see you._ Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a small shudder escape Carlton. She gripped his hand again, taking note of how his icy fingers trembled. She hoped the cold was at least numbing his pain.

Another ten minutes later, she leaned down to her partner and whispered, "I think they left. But we need to get out of here."

The pain of his leg and his bruised body caused Carlton's irritation to rear its nasty head. He unclenched his teeth and muttered, "And which way is _out_ , O'Hara?"

Night had fallen. Though the glow of the half-moon provided some illumination, they could barely see five feet in front of them. Even then, it was only shadows. Trees and bushes nearly surrounded them (except for the meadow), one tree looking very much like another. It would be impossible to tell what direction was which, especially in this light.

"I don't know, Carlton," she admitted. She felt Carlton let out a defeated sigh which turned into a whimper near the end. "But we'll get out of this. I promise."

The moon glinted off his retinas as he tilted his chin up to Juliet and responded, "I sure hope so." The glint was lost as he resignedly shut his eyes. "Wake me when it's my watch." He was soon fast asleep.

Juliet clenched her fists tightly and bit down on a knuckle to keep herself from screaming in frustration. She had gotten them lost. And if they hadn't gotten lost, Carlton wouldn't have hurt himself. And if Carlton hadn't have hurt himself, they wouldn't be hiding out in the bushes, just waiting to get killed. This was all her fault.

"Nothing else can possible go wrong," she mumbled to herself.

"Oh, that's where you're wrong, my dear," a menacing voice chuckled.


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: So so so so sorry for the late update! I've been busy with college and all other assorted things I do with my life. Anybody else in college? I'll apologize right now if any of the characters seem OOC because I haven't actually been able to watch Psych in a bit. Anyway, I'll get right to it.**_

 _ **P.S. This is a long one, so settle in, folks.**_

"What was that, Shawn?" Gus yelled. His eyes were so wide they seemed to pop out of his skull. He was in a semi-crouched defensive position, ready to defend himself from whatever unseen assailant awaited them. Neither man could make out anything around them—it was much too late at night and the trees too thick above them for them to see anything.

Shawn, though he very much wanted to, suppressed a girlish scream. He was sure Gus was doing the same (which he was). In a steady, calm voice, he managed, "That was a gunshot, Gus. That usually happens when a person applies pressure to the trigger of a gun. This can either be accidental or intentional but judging from the temperature of the wind and the direction of the moon—" He cut himself off, too frightened to even finish his tongue-in-cheek rant.

Gus was too frightened to think of a biting retort or even roll his eyes. He stood rooted in his defensive position. "Shawn, we're in the middle of the forest with no guns, no cellphones, and no idea where we are. This isn't the time for your off-brand sarcasm." His voice quavered more and more with each syllable.

Surprisingly, Shawn agreed and submissively nodded. "Okay, okay. I think the gunshot may have come from over—"

 _CRACK._

Another gunshot violated the peace of the forest. They both whipped their heads to the right, where the sound had originated. Shawn made eye contact with Gus and held out a fist. Gus nodded back and bumped Shawn's fist with his own. Satisfied that whatever was out there they would face together, they both ducked into crouched duckwalking positions and slowly inched their way through the thick underbrush.

A few more gunshots rang out as they painstakingly made their way closer and closer to the assailant. With each step taken, the gunshots became more and more deafening. Both men began to lose their footing as they pressed on due to their uncontrollable trembling. They were trying their hardest to keep their movements silent, but it was getting more difficult. Gus tripped over a root and a dozen birds scattered. They stayed put for what seemed hours before Shawn motioned that it was okay to keep moving.

Neither one had a plan for when they actually confronted the shooter. Improvisation always seemed to work for them. They only hoped their luck would hold out.

Shawn held his hand in front of Gus to abruptly halt their progress. With careful, calculated movement, he held a finger to his lips and pointed ahead. Gus squinted into the pitch-black ahead. Nothing. He looked back at Shawn, who motioned again to the nothingness in front of them. Gus looked again, squinting harder.

Then, he saw it. A flash from a handgun as yet another gunshot rang out.

The shooter was right in front of them leaning against a tree, with his gun pointed toward the meadow.

Gus turned to Shawn but Shawn wasn't looking at the shooter anymore, off to their left where a large meadow stretched out beyond the tree line.

A large, hunched figure was slowly drudging through the meadow. Gus opened his mouth but caught himself before screaming. The looming shadow looked hideous and dangerous. He couldn't blame the shooter for wanting to kill it.

Shawn looked back with a panicked look.

 _Lassie and Jules,_ he mouthed.

Gus furrowed his eyebrow and tilted his head in confusion. That was definitely not Detective Lassiter and Juliet. That was a dastardly monster who would kill them both if this shooter didn't take him out first. Gus jerked a thumb over his shoulder. _Let's get out of here._

Frustrated, Shawn shook his head vehemently and made a pulling-type gesture. Gus shook his head again and lightly nudged Shawn's shoulder. _C'mon, son._

Gus looked back at the figure. He shuddered at the thought of that evil monster tearing into his sweet, sweet flesh. He'd go for him first because he was bald—no monster wanted to pick Shawn's mane out of their teeth. He cursed his beautifully smooth head that he'd once considered a gift from God.

Another gunshot rang out and the monster cried out and stumbled. But it wasn't the snarling growl of a beast that he'd expected.

It was a woman's cry.

Shawn's strange pulling gesture suddenly clicked in Gus's mind. Juliet was dragging Detective Lassiter through the meadow. Lassiter must've gotten shot or something and Juliet was trying to drag him to safety.

 _Or he was dead._

Gus nudged Shawn's shoulder and mouthed, _What do we do?_

Shawn shrugged defeatedly. His eyes held a look of fear and concern that he couldn't have previously imagined gracing his boyish, playful features. If he didn't do anything, Juliet would most likely get shot, and her and Lassie would die. But if he attacked the shooter, he had a high chance of dying.

But then he imagined Juliet. Her blonde hair falling into her face as she studied over a case. Her smile when he cracked a joke. Her stern eyes when she was scolding him or Gus or Lassie. The way her face lit up when she saw him. The way she moved. The way she laughed. The day they'd first met and how annoyed he was that she'd taken his seat, and his immediate realization of how much he loved her.

His life be damned. Juliet _would not_ die because of his indecision and selfish fear for his own life.

His face screwed itself into a fit of rage. With a guttural war cry, he pushed himself off of the ground like a ferocious lion, charging at the shooter.

Gus watched in horror as the shooter spun around and raised his gun. But before he could aim, Shawn leaped atop him and knocked the gun from his hand. The shooter quickly flipped Shawn over and kneeled on his chest to begin punching him in the face, chest, and arms. Shawn brought his knee up sharply into the shooter's back and he howled in pain. Taking advantage of his distraction, Shawn reached up and shot a right hook at the shooter's jaw, causing him to fall to his side.

They continued wrestling on the ground, tearing up the bushes and dirt around them as Gus looked on, frozen with terror. His finetuned sense of fear had overwhelmed his loyalty to his friend in the moment.

" _Gus!"_ Shawn screamed through gritted teeth as he thrashed around with the shooter. _"Grab the gun!"_

Gus was still paralyzed. He clutched to an old oak tree trunk next to him, hoping it would somehow save him from the mess he'd found himself in.

 _"Gus!"_

Shawn's voice broke him out of his daze. He shook himself out of it and glanced at Shawn, who was screaming at him to find the gun as the shooter shot another cheap hit at the back of his head. Shawn grunted and went down but immediately flipped back around to return the blow. Propelled by his friend's bravery, Gus frantically scanned the ground for the discarded weapon. It was twilight and the light of the moon barely penetrated through the canopy of trees above. He crawled on hands and knees around the tussling duo and desperately searched.

 _"Gus!"_

"I'm trying! I'm trying!"

 _Where is it?!_ He swore. It was way too dark to find anything right now. He swore again.

 _"To your right, Gus!"_

Gus swiveled to his right to see the gun laying against a tree root. He scrambled toward it.

But before he could reach it, a hand roughly grasped his ankle and prevented him from grabbing it. He struggled, yelling and desperately trying to pull himself away, but the hand held on. Gus twisted himself around to get a better angle on the shooter.

The shooter wore a dark blue hood, so Gus couldn't see his face, but the intensity with which he gripped betrayed his fear. Shawn was underneath the shooter, struggling to get out. Every time he rose, the shooter would smash his face back into the ground with his left fist.

"Don't move," a tenor voice commanded.

Gus ignored him and smashed the shooter's fingers with his boot. He grunted in pain, but held on. He dug his nails into Gus's leg, causing him to squeak in pain, but he smashed the shooter's hand again anyway.

 _"I said don't move!"_

Gus ignored him and smashed his fingers again. This time, the shooter couldn't hold on and he fell back, clutching his smashed fingers to his chest.

His sudden movement gave Shawn the chance he needed to pop up and give a solid right hook to the shooter's jaw, effectively finishing him. He crumpled on his side. Gus quickly flipped around, scooped up the gun, and aimed at the man now lying on the ground.

With the shooter now unable to move without getting shot, Shawn kneeled down and flipped the hood back from his face. The angry face of Avery Goodwin stared back at him, all his beautiful black hair laying out behind him like a model. Shawn wished he could take a sword and cut it all off like Mulan did. There was only enough room for one guy with perfect hair in Santa Barbara.

"Avery," Shawn panted. "Why am I not surprised?"

Avery snarled and spit on Shawn's shoe. Shawn jumped back.

"Now, that's not very nice. Just for that, I think I'm going to tie you up. Gus, give me your shoelaces."

Gus kept his eye on Avery but firmly shook his head. "No."

"Gus, I need your shoelaces. How else am I going to tie up this bad man?"

"Use your own, Shawn."

"My shoelaces don't have the power of Magic Head in them!"

 _"Shawn."_

"Fine, fine. I'll use my own, run-of-the-mill, boring, white person shoelaces." He untied his tennis shoes and pulled the brown laces completely out. He jerked Avery's hands from his chest—causing a pained snarl—then looped them in and out of his hands, making sure to pull them tightly enough so they'd cut off his circulation.

"Alright, Avery, get up," Shawn demanded.

Avery, disgruntled and his dignity dented, shakily got to his feet. Shawn walked over to Gus and relieved him of the gun, which Gus willingly gave up, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans.

"Alright, now walk. And if you make any move to escape at all, I will shoot off your left ear."

"Like you could do that."

Shawn deftly flipped off the safety. "Don't test me."

That shut him up. He turned around and began a slow walk into the darkness of the forest. Shawn and Gus followed a few paces behind, one on each side of Avery so he couldn't escape.

Gus leaned over to Shawn while they were walking. "Where are we going, Shawn?" he whispered.

Shawn motioned to the trees at the edge of the meadow across the way. "Jules and Lassie went in there," he mumbled out of the side of his mouth. "Once we get there, we'll at least have some help in getting out of here alive with this piece of trash." He motioned to Avery.

"Why not just walk straight through the meadow?" Gus questioned. "Why skirt around it?"

"Gus, don't be a smoke alarm with a low battery, if we walked straight through the meadow, Jules or Lassie would think we were the shooter and would kill us on the spot."

"So, we're going to sneak around behind them and surprise them?"

"We're not going to surprise them. But we may scare them a little." Shawn grinned like it was a brilliant plan. Gus rolled his eyes. He didn't have any better ideas, so for now he'd have to follow Shawn's harebrained scheme.

They continued their slow journey through the trees, a distance that would have taken them fifteen minutes any other time but took them an hour instead, what with Avery taking his sweet time and Shawn stopping every few steps to check their surroundings, betraying his paranoia. Not to mention the moon was hiding behind some clouds, so they could only see about two feet in front of them.

Finally, they came to where Shawn had watched Lassie and Jules disappear into the foliage. He had surmised that they wouldn't have gone far if Jules was having to drag Lassie, so he knew they were close. He covertly scanned around them, straining to see any hint that the two detectives were still alive.

He prodded Avery with the muzzle of his gun and nodded to a rock just ahead of them, indicating that he should sit there and if he tried anything he could say goodbye to his precious left ear. He handed the gun to Gus and motioned for him to keep an eye on Avery. Gus reluctantly nodded and stood a few feet away from Avery, shakily aiming the gun at his head. Avery grinned maniacally.

Shawn tiptoed into the brush ahead and heightened all his senses, keeping his eyes trained for any sort of movement, his ears attuned to any slight noise, even his nose sniffing for the slight odor of human sweat or Jules's perfume that smelled of peaches.

Suddenly, he heard a mumbled female voice.

"Nothing else can possibly go wrong."

Against his better judgment, Shawn decided this would be the perfect time to tease his beloved detective. He looked back at Gus and gave him the thumbs up with a joyous grin. Then he summoned up his best menacing voice and said, "Oh, that's where you're wrong, my dear."


	6. Chapter 6

_**Heyyyyy sorry this took so long to get updated. I feel bad I left you guys on a cliffhanger for so long. I know exactly how that is and I deeply apologize for putting you in that position. Hopefully, this chapter will make up for it! My goal is to update every week, if possible. I really appreciate all the reviews and reads this has gotten! Enjoy!**_

Lassiter heard the menacing voice, too, as he was drifting off to sleep. His eyes snapped open and his hand immediately went to the Glock in his shoulder holster. _Why didn't I use this earlier?_ But that was a question to be answered later.

The tenor voice made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, but not for the reason he expected. Something about that voice was almost…familiar? That couldn't be it, could it? He was in the middle of nowhere and the only other people he knew were even near him were—

 _Spencer._

He heard O'Hara take in a quick gasp of air. Weakly grasping at the Glock in his shoulder holster (and angry at himself for not using it earlier), he slowly rose himself up to his elbows. He could see nothing beyond a shadow hovering over O'Hara, whose face was barely lit by the moonlight. It was Spencer's height alright. For good measure, he pointed the gun in the shadow's direction. "You so much as breathe on her, and you'll be dead before you can blink."

The menacing voice – getting less menacing by the second – only laughed. It was a stupidly annoying laugh. Much like that moronic cartoon character Spongebob. Lassiter hesitated at the trigger, wondering if Chief Vick would allow him just to nick an arm or a leg of the infuriating charlatan.

"C'mon, Lassie. You know I'm only joking. Besides, Gus is the one with the gun, which is what you should _really_ be worried about."

 _Yep. That was Spencer alright._

Lassiter kept his gun trained on the Spencer. "I could blow your head off for that, you ass!" he sneered through gritted teeth, trying to keep his voice down in case the sniper heard. His finger grew more and more twitchy by the minute, the only thing holding him back was O'Hara's inevitable disappointment and the fear of the noise the bullet would make.

Angrily, O'Hara spun around and gave Spencer a resounding slap. The sound was the most satisfying thing in the world to Lassiter.

"What the hell was that, Shawn?" She stood up to her full height and raised her hand to slap him again. _C'mon, O'Hara. You know you want to._

Still recovering from the first smack, Spencer flinched and fell to his knees in front of O'Hara. "Okay, okay, I get it. I'm sorry. That was stupid." And yet, Lassiter was sure he saw Spencer flash a grin back to Guster, who he noticed was very intently pointing a gun at something. Wait. That wasn't right either. Guster didn't point guns at people. Guster could barely hold himself steady, much less a gun. If he was training a gun on someone, there was no telling how it could turn out.

"What are you doing, Guster?" Lassiter asked as strongly as he could, though his voice was much weaker than he intended.

"We got Avery," Guster replied as steadily as he could, but his voice still shook. "He's sitting on a rock in front of me and I do not like the way he's looking at me." Lassiter heard a guffaw that he could only guess was Avery's cold-hearted chuckle. Guster's trembling slightly increased.

"Oh yeah," Spencer said. "You see, Avery here was pulling a Rambo and dealing out his own brand of justice." Spencer walked over and jerked the criminal to his feet. Guster remained trained on him. "But we pulled the old reverse Rambo on him and brought _him_ to justice." He grinned, obviously very proud of this fact. Lassiter had to admit, the psychic knew how to handle himself sometimes. Lucky bastard.

O'Hara rolled her eyes, but let out a begrudging "Thank you." Lassiter remained silent, partly out of dignity (he tried to avoid thanking Spencer at all times possible) and partly due to the fact that he knew the next noise out of his mouth would be a scream. The adrenaline of the incident was wearing off and he was suddenly very aware of the pain throughout his body.

His leg was on fire. It felt like he'd been dumped into an actual pot of lava. His ribs ached and seemed to poke into every one of his internal organs with each breath. The numerous cuts and scrapes all over his body stung like a hundred little bees attacking him at once. He leaned back and closed his eyes again, letting O'Hara handle this.

Thankfully, she didn't beat around the bush about their situation. _Good girl._ "Okay. We're lost and stuck here for the night. Lassiter's leg is completely broken – and really gross to look at – and is no condition to move right now." Lassiter heard a whimper and assumed it was from the more squeamish of the group, Guster. "Two of us need to stay up and watch Avery while the other two get some sleep. Guster, give me the gun."

With trembling hands, Guster transferred the weapon to O'Hara's much steadier ones. Lassiter watched the man's body automatically slump with relief. What a pussy. Guster gladly walked over to Spencer and gave him a small fist bump.

"Okay, Gus. That means one of us has to forgo sleep and the possibility of forest nymph-induced wet dreams to watch the murderer. Who will it be?" Of course, this was all delivered with the trademark Spencer grin, but Lassiter noticed a slight faltering as his lips formed the smile. Could it be that their predicament had temporarily broken Spencer? He sure hoped so.

"C'mon, son. You know it's got to be you. I had to watch Avery for the past ten minutes." Guster was not in the mood to play around anymore. Way to go, Guster.

Spencer didn't put up much of a fight. "Okay, okay. I'll stay up. But only because I want you and Lassiter to spend some quality time together." Guster rolled his eyes but looked Lassiter over with some concern, most likely wondering if Lassiter was as bad as he looked. Lassiter returned the gaze with a stoic glare. However, it turned into more of a pained grimace as his leg shot a stab of pain through his body. Guster cocked an eyebrow but stayed silent.

"Okay, now that we've got that sorted out," O'Hara said, "let's try and get some sleep. We've got a long day ahead of us."

Spencer silently trudged over to sit next to O'Hara on a log across from Avery, who had given up on trying to be menacing and was now lying on the ground, eyes closed, knees drawn to his chest, feigning sleep most likely. Lassiter wished that was him.

Guster plopped down and stretched out next to Lassiter. "How you doing, Lassie?" His voice was soft, like he was afraid if he spoke too loudly that Lassiter would break.

If he'd had more energy, Lassiter would've glared at him for the annoying nickname and the almost condescending gentleness, but he was too tired and in too much pain to care. "I've been much better." He punctuated the statement with a low groan, which only made his ribs ache more.

"You know, when I got hurt or sick as a kid, my mom would always tell me to close my eyes and go to sleep. She said things would always be better in the morning."

Lassiter shot a glance Guster's way. This seemed like a trap to get him to reveal something about his personal life. Maybe talk about how his father threw a snowglobe at his head when he was six? Or when his mother would pay him two cents a head to take out the squirrels in the backyard with a BB gun? Whatever he was trying to do, Lassiter sure didn't like it. Revealing any sort of personal information was too much weakness to show. He tried to turn away, forgetting momentarily that he had a bum leg. He immediately let out a short yelp of pain, stifling it with his suit sleeve.

"Man, that doesn't look good at all," Guster remarked. "Your leg isn't even facing the right way. That's disgusting." He looked ready to hurl, but he stifled it with a look of confidence. Lassiter wondered how a man like him even got in to pharmaceuticals if he hated the human body and all its strangeness this much. But, that was a conversation for a different day. Or one to never have, since that would involve learning more about a man he didn't much care for.

Through gritted teeth, Lassiter replied, "Just leave me alone." Even talking was getting to be too monumental a task to undertake, so he squeezed his eyes shut tightly to try and block out some of the pain. It didn't work, but it at least prevented him from having to stare into the concerned eyes of Guster.

"Alright, well I'm right here if you need me."

 _Not necessary,_ Lassiter wanted to say, but he just continued to squeeze his eyes shut. After about a half hour of silent suffering, he drifted into a restless sleep.

Lassiter sat up and looked around. O'Hara was gone. Guster was gone. Even Spencer had vanished. It was morning and he was in the meadow once again, but this time it was peaceful. No bullets, no shooters, not even a cloud in the sky.

He shifted his leg, expecting a twinge of pain, but felt nothing. Looking down, he saw that his legs were completely fine. The pants hadn't been torn and there was no mud caking his knees. Maybe it had all been a bad dream. Maybe he could just get up, shake it off, and walk out of this forest.

"Hey!" he called out, but no one answered. Not even a bird replied to his shout. He cried out a few more times, but nothing happened. Figuring it couldn't hurt, especially since his leg had magically healed, he stood up and looked around. The ground immediately tilted under his feet and the scenery around him blurred until he was standing in his childhood room again.

"Binky!" he heard a gruff voice call. That was Hank's voice. That couldn't be possible, could it? But, then again, it wasn't possible to be back in his childhood room so quickly either. His old house was at least ten miles away from the woods.

Suddenly, Hank opened the door to his room. Lassiter smiled. It was nice to see a familiar face in all this chaos.

"It's great to see you, Hank! I need some help—"

"I'm _delighted_ to see you, too." Hank had a menacing grin that Lassiter immediately didn't like. That was a side of Hank he'd never seen. The man looked like a psychopath. Suddenly, Hank pulled a pistol from his waistband. "Have a nice sleep, Binky."

That wasn't Hank's voice.

That was Avery's.

Lassiter screamed but it was too late.

The gun went off.

Lassiter's eyes snapped open. His breathing was coming in ragged gasps and he was covered in sweat, which was strange considering how cold it was at this time of night. He wasn't sure if he screamed aloud or not, but his mouth was wide open.

He looked around himself to try and reorient, but it was still too dark for him to really tell where he was. He could hear O'Hara and Spencer speaking in low voices, so they must still be on guard duty. They didn't sound panicked, so Avery must still be under control. He was fine. For now.

He felt a hand gently touch his shoulder and he jumped. "You okay, Lassie?" Guster's voice. He turned to find him kneeling over him with a furrowed brow.

Normally, he would have been annoyed at being touched at all, but he was much too tired and much too disoriented to care right now. He grasped the hand on his shoulder. Guster took it and squeezed it tightly. What was he doing? This wasn't him. But, then again, having a broken leg wasn't him either. Shock and fear had really done a number on him.He released the death grip he realized he had on the other man's hand. Guster patted his shoulder twice and retracted his hand as well.

He stuttered, "I'm fine." His voice was much too high and was shaking too much, but Guster seemed to understand.

"It's going to be okay, Lassie. We'll get home soon and you'll be out of pain then. And out of the woods." Lassiter heard a quiet exhale of air – Guster was laughing silently at his own pun. What an idiot.

But he was glad the idiot was with him right now.

"Go to sleep, Lassie," Guster said gently. Lassiter hated being calmed down, but he was grateful for it right now. If he didn't have that grounding voice, he was sure he was still in a dream. "You're going to be okay."

Lassiter let his eyes slip closed again.


	7. Chapter 7

_**I literally have no idea where this is going. Please save me.**_

He could hear Juliet and Shawn chatting quietly while they watched Avery. As much as the sound irritated him (he was trying to sleep before he succumbed to his inevitable death), he was glad that Shawn had finally found someone who he could talk to. Sure, he could always talk to Gus, but it just wasn't the same. Men just didn't talk about their feelings as easily as they could with women. That's just the way the world worked. In a part of himself he was ashamed of, Gus was jealous that Shawn had found that person, but he pushed those feelings back down. He'd find someone – one day.

Lassiter stirred beside him like he'd awoken from a nightmare.

"You okay, Lassie?"

Lassiter looked at him with round, bloodshot eyes. It was apparent that he was still mostly asleep. Gus guessed that nothing was making much sense to him. He put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. Lassiter immediately latched on and squeezed tightly. Gus made a mental note to wash his hand thoroughly when he returned to civilization.

 _If_ he returned to civilization.

He murmured something to the detective about how he could get through this – he was Carlton Lassiter, after all. After a few more soothing words, Lassiter drifted back to sleep, his breathing much more even now. It was odd to see Lassiter this vulnerable, but Gus shrugged it off. It wasn't the first time he'd seen Lassiter acting strange and it surely wouldn't be the last. What he truly needed to focus on at this point was the fact that he was in the middle of the freezing Californian forest – which was more than likely rife with hungry bears – with nothing but a wimpy windbreaker. Fat lot of good that would do him – there wasn't any wind.

Gus lay back down on the dirt ground, envying Lassiter's ability to sleep and gazing up at the starry sky through a canopy of trees. The one good thing about being lost out here was the fact that he finally got to see the Milky Way. He'd always been obsessed with space, ever since he was a little kid. It wasn't often he could get away from the city lights to see this much of it.

He heard some scuffling and some angry whisper over by Juliet and Shawn, but they quelled almost as soon as they started. Gus assumed they had simply been bitten by a mosquito or Shawn had gotten handsy. Either way, not his problem at the moment. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

"Stop! Stop or I'll shoot!"

The threat of imminent danger made it Gus's problem.

The high-pitched, almost feverish tone of Juliet's voice made his eyes fly open. He bolted upright next to Lassiter, who was surprisingly sleeping through most of it. Gus squinted as hard as he could into the darkness and could vaguely make out a shape running away from him through the trees. It didn't take much to figure out that the shadow was Avery. Having escaped Juliet and Shawn while they were talking, he was trying to make a break for it.

 _BANG._

A shot rang out and Avery immediately collapsed to the ground, motionless. Not the most successful escape attempt he'd ever seen, but then again he had high standards – he'd seen _The Shawshank Redemption_ 37 times now.

Juliet's slender shadow glided over to the fallen one and knelt down, presumably to take a pulse. He noticed that the gun in her hand was still unwaveringly aimed at Avery.

"Shit! Shawn get over here!"

Gus watched as Shawn's lumbering form tripped its way over to Juliet, cursing the whole way. He bit back a sarcastic remark, figuring it wouldn't help much in this situation. "How is he?" he heard him gasp.

"Avery's dead."

It was this point in Gus's life that he realized that he'd lost his empathy – most likely the day Shawn stepped foot into this office. Isn't this how serial killers started out? Wasn't it a sign of sociopathy? You know, like that Jake Paul kid? Whatever had happened in his life in the years since then had made Gus a hardened man. He'd seen far too many murderers and murder victims to truly care anymore.

Or maybe he was just tired and hungry.

Shawn and Juliet were still cursing and trying to revive the man they so obviously knew was dead.

"Hm?" Lassiter's dazed face signaled that he didn't know even an iota of what was going on. His mouth and fingers twitched with anticipation.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep."

"That was a shot, Guster," Lassiter slurred. "I know a gunshot when I hear one." He attempted to sit up but stopped with a wince of pain. Gus pushed him back down, making sure to push Lassiter's hands down to his side so they would stop creeping toward his holster.

"Yeah, but it's not a big deal. No worries. Just your friendly neighborhood gunshot. You probably hear them all the time, right Lassie?"

Lassiter smiled, as if remembering a pleasant memory. "Yeah." He giggled and slumped back to the ground.

Gus snorted. God, this dude was seriously delirious. They would need to get out of here soon, or they'd be in a world of trouble carrying the six-foot tall, 150-pound man around the forest, especially when he was mostly dead weight.

"Hey! Is Avery really dead?" Gus still kept his voice as low as possible. He didn't want to attract any bears. He had read somewhere that bears were attracted to loud noises and cocoa butter, only one of which he could avoid right now. But nothing, not even bears, could stop him from moisturizing with his beloved cocoa butter.

Shawn looked up from the body and gave him a thumbs up and a grin. Honestly, any other time Gus probably would've yelled at him to have some respect, but it was just so relieving to know that there was one less person to worry about. If only he cared little enough about one of the other three to kill one of them off. Maybe Lassiter…

Gus vigorously shook his head. Maybe Lassiter wasn't the only one getting delirious.

Juliet voiced his thoughts exactly. "Well, I guess that's one less person to worry about."

Having someone else say it out loud rose a concern with a Gus that he hadn't thought of before. "Aren't we going to take him back to the coroner's office when we get out of here?"

Juliet shook her head with a hint of a sad smile. "Just extra weight at this point. We'll just have to try and give the general location to whoever finds us." She peered off into the darkness. "Or we can just let the bears get him."

Gus felt a shiver run down his back.

"Bears…" Lassiter mumbled beside him. Gus patted his head like he was a child being rewarded for a particularly good grade in spelling. Lassiter smiled in his sleep.

"What's up with him?" Shawn said loudly – right next to Gus's ear.

Gus nearly jumped out of his skin. "What the hell, Shawn? Can't you give me any sort of warning when you come up to me like that?"

"What's wrong, Gus? Psychic powers not working today? Oh, wait," he put his hands to his temples, "I have those, not you."

Gus punched his shoulder, but honestly wasn't terribly mad at him at the moment. What this situation truly needed was more humor, because it was so off-the-wall it didn't even seem real. It felt like that horrible nightmare he had every week or two about the giraffe chasing him across the Serengeti with a lion on its back riding it like a horse. Any other time, it would be hilarious, but not when it was coming at you with its lightning giraffe speed.

"You're thinking about the giraffe dream again, aren't you?"

"What? No, of course not." Gus flicked his nose to regain his coolness.

Juliet walked over and squatted down next to three of them: Gus, Shawn, and sleepy Lassie. "There's not much we can do until it gets light, so why don't we all try to fall back asleep? We don't really need anyone to stand guard anymore – the only thing out there are animals, and they're probably asleep, too." She didn't seem too sure of that statement, but it put Gus at ease for the moment. She reached down and smoothed Lassiter's hair back from his forehead, who made a noise between a giggle and a groan in reply.

"Sounds good to me," Shawn commented. "What about you, MagicHead?"

Gus rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Shawn."

Shawn nudged Gus and Gus nudged him back. They both grinned – if they had to be lost in the woods in freezing temperatures, at least they were lost together.

With that, Gus collapsed back down next to Lassie, who seemed to be humming softly in his sleep. Shawn flopped down next to Gus and snuggled closely. Though he was claustrophobic and really didn't like sleeping that close to anyone unless it was an attractive woman, Gus allowed it and even snuggled a little closer just to retain some body heat.

Gus heard Juliet walk around the other side of Lassiter and sit down next to him. Like Shawn, he sleepily watched her snuggle up to the injured man. Lassiter stirred slightly, but Juliet muttered something to him and he breathed a sigh of relief, falling back into a deep sleep.

Before anyone knew it, they were all fast asleep. Santa Barbara's four finest detectives snuggled together like the innocent children they had once been.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Harrison Ford sucks as an actor but he's pretty hot so no one really cares, including me. Hope you enjoy the chapter.**_

After a few restless hours of sleep, they collectively decided that it was time to get up and go, or at least make a plan for how they were going to get out of the forest. Though none of them wanted to admit it, they were glad that Avery was dead; they didn't have the time or the energy to keep track of him the whole way home.

Lassiter weakly wiped a bead of sweat off his brow, only succeeding in smearing it across the bridge of his nose; the heat of the day wasn't helping the fever he'd developed over night, and the fever wasn't helping the delirium that Shawn, Gus, and Juliet could see was setting in. Though the temperature had dropped unbearably low during the night, it had risen to unbearably high by noon. It was to the point that Juliet nearly debated taking off her shirt and stripping down to just her camisole, but she didn't think it prudent in present company. Especially since Shawn was a part of that present company.

Juliet stood over Lassiter, who had gained a bit of lucidity from the sleep, but still wasn't fully there. Lassiter lay with his head propped up on his folded-up jacket, his eyes half-shut as he stared at the sky above him. Shawn and Gus were sitting with their backs against an old oak tree.

"How are we going to get you home?" Juliet mused aloud to the injured man below her.

"I can walk," Lassiter insisted as his eyes slid further shut. Juliet cocked an eyebrow but remained silent.

"Shawn and I can carry him," Gus offered. Shawn immediately elbowed him and Juliet didn't blame him. It would be almost impossible to get anywhere carrying Lassiter.

"You know that's not going to work, Gus," Juliet said.

"Yeah, Gus," Shawn added. "You know Lassie's been hitting the donuts pretty hard lately."

Lassiter groaned in reply. Juliet plopped down beside him and grabbed his hand absentmindedly. The detective squeezed back.

Juliet noticed that Shawn was nearly staring a hole in the ground below him, deep in thought. She recognized this as one of his "trances" – he was receiving some sort of inspiration of what to do. When she had first met him, she'd thought it was all a bunch of hokum. Psychics weren't real. Yet, she'd seen enough strange occurrences around him that she couldn't really deny it anymore. She only hoped his psychic sense could get them out of here. Finally, he looked up, the concentration in his eyes still boring a hole into whatever he focused on, which happened to be Juliet.

"What if I go on alone?"

Juliet opened her mouth to protest, but nothing came out. There was nothing to say. She knew she'd already done enough, getting them lost out here. Lassiter couldn't move. Gus could go along with Shawn, but he was too petrified by any and all wildlife to really be of much help.

Shawn had to be the one to find help. And soon.

She shut her mouth and nodded.

"Wait, what?" Gus protested. "You're just going to let him wander off and possibly get even more lost?" He stood and looked down at Shawn. "What about me? What if I die out here? I thought we were friends, Shawn."

Juliet's lips twitched at Gus's irritation, mostly because it was exactly what she was thinking, too. It's not like they had much other choice, though.

"I don't really like the idea either, but we have no other options at this point. If it makes you feel better, Gus, you can go with him."

Gus's irritated expression softened slightly, but not by much. "But what if we get even more lost? Then we'll all die."

Shawn seemed to remember his characteristic wit. "We're gonna die anyway. Might as well go find a scenic spot to do it. I distinctly remember passing a meadow of beautiful wildflowers that I wouldn't mind croaking in."

Gus glared at Shawn. "This isn't a joke, Shawn! This is serious."

"Spencer's right."

All eyes went to the speaker: Lassiter. It wasn't exactly the strangest thing for him to say – of course he wouldn't mind sending Shawn off into the forest – but it was the most coherent thing any of them had heard him say in a few hours. His eyes were wide open and he'd propped himself up on his elbows.

"Spencer should go," Lassiter reiterated. "O'Hara, you go with him. Guster and I will stay here."

"Lassiter—"

"O'Hara, you know as well as I do that no one's going to be able to carry me. You also know that we can't send Spencer out there alone, as much I'd like to." He shot a scowl to Shawn, though Juliet noticed it wasn't without a hint of affection. "I'd rather have someone with a gun with him. Since you're the only one with a gun who can move, then it has to be you. Besides, Guster's the one who knows more about pharmaceuticals and injuries, so he can handle anything that happens with me. He and I will just sit tight here." Gus seemed like he wanted to protest, but then thought better of it. Most likely relieved that he didn't have to go wander the forest again.

"Wow, Lassie," Shawn mocked playfully. "I think that's the most sensible thing you've said today. Might wanna take a rest now. Don't want to have two good ideas in one day. It might kill you in this shape."

Lassiter glared at Shawn, this time with less affection.

"He's right though, Shawn," Juliet interjected. "It's better if we split up… _again._ "

Gus shifted. "That didn't work so well last time."

They all sat in silence for a moment. Juliet's hand unconsciously moved to the scratch on her shoulder from the bullet. Lassiter stoically stared at his useless leg. Finally, Shawn spoke up.

"We're all alive though, right?"

Juliet gave him a weak smile. "You're damn right."

Juliet's affirmation seemed to breathe new life into the group. Shawn stood and strode confidently to Juliet, who pulled the gun she kept tucked in her back waistband and held it at the ready down by her side. Gus edged closer to Lassiter, who sat up further and leaned against a large rock near Gus. Furtively, he leaned slightly against Gus, who leaned a bit as well to help hold up the injured man.

"Guess this is see you later then?" Lassiter said, looking pointedly at Juliet. She could see the unspoken plea in his eyes. _Be safe. Come back for me._

"Yep. See you later, partner." She walked over and gave him a parting kiss on top of his head. Lassiter hid a smile.

Shawn grinned at Gus. "I'm not doing that for you, Gus. No matter how much you beg, our relationship just isn't to that stage yet."

Gus rolled his eyes with a smile. "I'm not sure how I could explain that one to Abigail anyway."

And with that, Shawn and Juliet began the fateful trek through the trees to what they hoped was their salvation.

Something wasn't right. These woods were supposed to be teeming with life; after all, it was California – you couldn't shake a stick without hitting some person or some animal. They should have been hearing birds and deer and other small woodland creatures. But there was no noise whatsoever.

Something wasn't right.

"Shawn…"

"Yeah. I feel it, too."

Their voices were barely above a whisper. Things weren't adding up.

They had been walking for a good few hours in went they assumed was west, based on the direction of the setting sun the night before. As they'd walked, they'd chatted about work, about friends, about their love lives. Their conversation was punctured by the constant chattering of birds and the occasional cry of a hawk. Once, Shawn stopped and, with a grin on his face, pointed out a large deer. Despite the fact that they really didn't have the time, they'd stopped to watch the majestic creatures for a few minutes, wishing they felt as carefree and comfortable as that deer did.

But where were those majestic creatures now? Where was the chirping that Juliet had grown tired of?

"Where are they?" Juliet said aloud, more to herself than to Shawn.

Shawn turned and opened his mouth to answer, but he was cut off by a rough grunting from their right. Juliet's eyebrows shot up and the color in Shawn's face disappeared. They both slowly turned to see what the noise was, both terrified of what they would see.

Juliet felt the air go out of her lungs and heard Shawn's signature high-pitched screaming as their worst fears were confirmed.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving! I know I did. Anyway, not too much preamble for this one. Be forewarned, it is a long one. Enjoy!**_

The pain in his muscles and joints had built up over the last few hours of inactivity and Lassiter was finding it difficult not to curse aloud; instead, he kept his teeth gritted as tight as possible, worried he might crack his teeth if he didn't get some relief soon. As much as he hated hospitals, he was hopeful that he would be in one soon. At least there they would have some sort of drug to dull the pain and possibly the memories from this terrible ordeal. He tried to focus on this hopeful thought.

Guster, from his position leaning against a tree stump, had been rambling on about something or other for the past half hour. Lassiter barely even made an effort to appear interested, occasionally nodding or making eye contact, but mostly staring up at tree canopy and the splotches of blue sky peeking through. This didn't seem to bother Guster, who plodded on through family stories, work mishaps, and incidents regarding Shawn, including an actually humorous one involving a torn pair of pants and a missed bus that Lassiter actually smiled at.

"Lassie? You alright?"

Lassiter blinked a few times to shake himself from his slightly delirious reverie. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." Guster cocked his head and Lassiter managed a weak smile, which turned into a painful grimace. The emotion didn't go unnoticed by Guster.

"You're really not looking so good." Guster's brow was furrowed. He was probably running through all the remedies he knew in his head for delirium and pain, wishing that he had some Advil or Tylenol in his back pocket.

"I'll be okay, Guster. Just as soon as we get out of this damn forest and get some food and water." Lassiter spit off to the side, as if to punctuate his point. That is, he tried to spit, but he didn't have enough saliva to do so. Instead, he just made a gagging noise and then glared at Guster, who stifled a laugh.

"You got that right." Guster licked his lips, imagining the feast that would await them when they returned to civilization.

Suddenly, they heard a rustling in the trees ahead of them. It wasn't loud, but it definitely wasn't just the breeze trickling through the forest. Lassiter propped himself up on his elbows and Guster leaned forward from the tree stump, crouching and ready to pounce or run (most likely the latter).

 _You hear that?_ Guster mouthed. Lassiter nodded and attuned his ears to the sounds of the forest, listening for any more rustlings. Again, a whooshing through the trees, followed by a dull thud. His fingers scratched the hard-packed earth and came up with a clod of dirt, which he anxiously and unconsciously squeezed into smithereens. Guster inched his way behind a tree – obviously the flight instinct had taken hold of him.

Another crash, this time much louder. The sound was coming from about a hundred years ahead of Lassiter and Guster, getting louder by the second. Guster cowered even further behind his tree and Lassiter put a hand on the butt of his gun, not sure if he'd even have the strength to shoot it at this point.

Then, a second noise. This one less natural than the buzzing and blowing of the forest. Lassiter strained his ears. There it was again.

" _Detectives!_ "

Lassiter and Guster made eye contact, both unable to comprehend the voices. Was someone really trying to find them? Was someone really here to rescue them? Lassiter silently prayed that this wasn't a cruel trick of the mind – after all, they'd both been going pretty crazy out here alone. It wouldn't surprise him if they started hearing voices.

 _"Detectives!"_

It was unmistakable – it was a voice. An actual honest-to-God human voice. They were going to be saved.

 _"We're over here!"_ Lassiter yelled back, exhausting almost all of his energy in the process. He repeated the phrase a few more times, the footsteps and yells of the search and rescue team growing louder with each shout. When Lassiter's voice finally fizzled out, Guster took up the call, emerging from behind his safe tree cover.

Finally, a man's bearded face popped out from the bushes just a few yards ahead of the men. "I found them!" he yelled in a gravelly voice. He rushed out in his reflective gear and immediately began tending to the two hungry, thirsty men, handing each a water bottle and a granola bar. "Looks like you guys have been through the ringer, huh?"

Guster nodded enthusiastically but Lassiter simply dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand. "I've been through worse," he grunted. However, it was not without a sigh of relief that he lay back down on the ground while the man gently examined his leg. Guster grinned at him through a mouth of granola bar. Lassiter smiled back, closing his eyes peacefully as he heard more responders crashing through the undergrowth to them.

"Got a compound fracture here!" the first man yelled.

He heard Guster asking about Spencer and O'Hara. No, no, they hadn't found them yet. Guster told them where which way they'd gone and the responders promised to do their best. Lassiter vaguely felt a sense of anxiety for the two, specifically for his partner, but the pain in his leg was reaching a dangerous crest that seemed to be blocking out all coherent thought. No one would mind if he drifted off for a bit, right?

"Detective! Detective, wake up!"

But it was too late.

"Juliet, don't move a muscle." Shawn's teeth were gritted, mainly to keep himself from screaming. Not ten feet away was the largest black bear he'd ever seen. He'd always compared them to grizzly bears in his head, so it hadn't occurred to him how big black bears could actually get and how threatening they could be. This one was about the size of his kitchen table and twice as tall. Its ears were perked up as it listened to Shawn and Juliet's ragged breathing. He was sure that not all black bears were this big and menacing. Wasn't there a cute baby one at the zoo that he'd often visited? But that wasn't his main problem right now. His main problem was this bear's teeth were bared (pun intended) in a snarl, ready to attack.

What was one supposed to do if one encountered a bear? He scoured his brain. Wave your arms? No, that wasn't it, that would make them angry. Make high-pitched screeching noises? He didn't think that likely, especially considering the noises he could make. What was it?

"Shawn!" Juliet's shrill whisper broke into his thoughts. He slowly tore his gaze from the bear to see Juliet had dropped to the dirt next to him. "Play dead!"

That's it! You're supposed to play dead when there's a bear!

 _"Shawn!"_

Shaking himself from his panicked train of thought once again, he dropped to the ground in a spread-eagled fashion, his face smashed against the unyielding dirt. He didn't dare look up and see the bear, for fear that it would sense that he wasn't really dead. Instead, he slowly turned his head and looked over at Juliet, who returned his gaze with fear. He managed the tiniest of smiles, as if to say, "Well, this may be it, but I'm glad I'm with you." Juliet only stared back.

They could hear the bear plodding closer, taking its sweet time as it grunted and groaned through the trees. It sniffed the air loudly. Could it smell if someone was alive or dead? Shawn sincerely hoped that if so, this one had a cold and thus wouldn't be able to smell much of anything.

The bear inched its way closer and closer, though Shawn couldn't see exactly where it stood. He could only judge its distance from the occasional grunting and heavy steps. And…was that the bear he could smell? It smelled like his great-grandfather, who often forgot to bathe after long days herding cattle. Shawn scrunched his nose as the smell grew stronger.

Suddenly, a shadow passed over him. Juliet's face had gone pale, drained of any color it once retained. Shawn almost screamed when a rough tongue began licking his ear tentatively. If he had been at Bear World, this would've been an entirely enjoyable experience. Unfortunately, he hadn't been to Bear World in over twenty years. Instead, he was in California, in the forest, his face in the dirt, pretending to be dead. He stiffened at the sensation and couldn't help but imagine a giant cat licking his ear.

He didn't realize that he'd been holding his breath, but the spots that began dancing in the corners of his eyes reminded him that oxygen was necessary to live. But he couldn't risk taking a breath right now, not with the bear standing right over him. But he really couldn't afford to go much longer either.

The bear had ceased to lick him and was now curiously sniffing at his shoes. It took a careful bite of his left one, letting go as quickly as it had latched on. Apparently his fancy new red and blue Nikes were not tasty enough for its standards.

The world was growing darker by the second. Not really black, but more of a maroon. Like Maroon Five. They were a good band. God, he wished he could just breathe again…

He inhaled.

And the bear didn't like that.

It growled in Shawn's ear, its hot breath nearly suffocating him – again. Juliet tried to scream but couldn't. Instead, she sat stock-still with her mouth agape, watching Shawn's imminent demise like a B-list horror film.

He didn't dare risk moving, though it probably wouldn't have mattered anymore. Suddenly, something large and furry smacked his ear. Stars danced in front of his eyes and he felt a warm liquid trickling from the side of his head. No use playing dead anymore.

He rolled and jumped to his feet, ready to face the demon bear that dared to face _the_ Shawn Spencer. He got into a boxer's fighting stance. Fat lot of good that would do against a bear that had two hundred pounds on him. But he had to at least look good if he was going to die in front of Juliet.

The bear rose on its hind feet not five yards from where he stood. It roared a battle cry before dropping down to all fours and charging him. Shawn sidestepped and used a fist to deliver a blow to the side of the brute's head.

He'd just punched a bear.

And the bear didn't like it.

It whipped around to face him again, yowling for blood. Though it was still about a yard or two away, it leapt forward with paws outstretched and slapped Shawn again with its monstrous claws, raking deep scratches across his face. He fell to his knees briefly.

He noticed a large stick next to him and reached out for it, sweeping out widely with it as he returned to his feet. He made harsh contact with the bear's nose, breaking the skin and causing blood to spurt from one of its nostrils. Even more angry, the bear snatched the stick from his hands with its powerful jaws and snapped it in two.

All the bravery that had once animated him had left and his legs began to shake. He looked down to see if Juliet was still okay.

But she wasn't there. She was gone.

But before he could register what this meant, the bear jumped atop him and pushed him to the ground. He heard a crack in his ribs as he screamed with pain. The bear's unbearable smell and suffocating breath were in his face now. He found it difficult to breathe and could only stare with fear at the monstrosity that had him at its mercy.

Staring death in the face, Shawn began to think of all the things he didn't get to do. He never got to say goodbye to Gus. He never got to tell Juliet he loved her. He'd never have the hoard of children he wanted so badly. He never even got the chance to own a dog. Looking up at the slobbering, growling mass above him, Shawn accepted that it was his time to die. He closed his eyes and waited for the pain that would end it all.

But it never came. Instead, all he heard was a gunshot and felt the entire weight of the bear go limp on top of him, pushing his body even farther into the dirt below him. Shawn opened his eyes to see a bullet hole on the side of the animal's head, just below the left ear. He looked over expecting to see Juliet standing over him with a smoking Glock in her hand.

Instead, a man with a hunting rifle and camouflage clothing stood over him.

"That was pretty badass, my dude."


End file.
